And how the mullion'd windows—mark!
Burn in the western evening glow!
Drift down, or up, where'er you go,
They flame from out the distant park,
The red-til'd towers of the old Château.
So was it once with friend, with foe;
Far off they saw the patriot's ark
Burn in the western evening glow.
Think of him now! One thought bestow,
As, blazing against the pine trees dark,